The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) by John Pilkington (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📗

He continued to avoid my gaze – but at the mention of Tait, a sickly look appeared.

‘So, at last we have it,’ I sighed, with no small relief. ‘Berritt was an unwanted witness at the inquest: the finder of the body, who could make difficulties for your landlord. Which is why I assume it was on Cobbett’s orders that you despatched the fellow.’ I paused, then: ‘Not that it matters, for you’ll stand trial for his murder. I promise you that.’

There was a movement then - but not from Humphreys, who slumped like the beaten man he was. I looked round to see his wife step back to her stool, and sit down heavily.

‘May God forgive him,’ she murmured. ‘For I cannot.’

‘No… you could never forgive, could you?’

Like an animal her husband turned upon her, his voice a savage snarl.

‘Not me,’ he cried, ‘nor the miscarried children, nor our grasping landlord – not a soul, could you ever forgive! The whole world must pay for your misery, and not be allowed to forget! And whatever I did, it was never enough! Would that the God you claim to worship could pay you out for what I’ve endured – to the devil with your whoreson piety! Now I’ll be gone from here, and you can stew in your own hatred until you die! At least I’ll never have to listen to your whining voice again!’

Whereupon he fell back, and said not another word.

Nor would he, until he was taken away tied to his horse, destined for the prison in Worcester. His rogue of a labourer, I would learn, had already fled, paid off for his silence.

As for Humphreys’ other crimes, the wicked abuse of Susanna Cobbett in collusion with her father: I decided to spare his wife that part of my interrogation. She too was broken, I knew, though she refused to show her feelings. She would say nothing further to me or my servants. In silence she let us leave while remaining seated, in a corner of the room where the sunlight did not reach.

The last part of Humphreys’ confession took place on our return journey, away from prying eyes at the quietest spot I knew: the Witching Pool.

NINETEEN

It was mid-morning by the time we arrived at the edge of Newland Wood, where I drew rein and bade Childers and Lockyer dismount. Humphreys was left on his horse with hands bound before him, while the three of us gathered in a close group. On the journey I had told Lockyer what I intended, which meant letting him know something of Humphreys’ crimes. He listened closely, then frowned.

‘In truth, sir, I’ve heard rumours about him,’ he said. ‘Never paid much mind to them, but…’ he tensed. ‘That’s why the Cobbett maids sought safety with you, is it?’

I met his gaze, but said nothing. Whereupon, with a shake of his head, he stepped away and returned to the horses. When he looked up at Humphreys, the man quickly turned from him.

‘What do you mean to do here?’ Childers asked me, with a glance at our captive. ‘Threaten to drown him?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ I said. ‘But I need to sweat him enough to incriminate Cobbett. Hence, I will allow my anger to boil over. Your task will be to restrain me, until we’ve put the fear of God into the man. Can you do that?’

His reply was a curt nod. Whereupon we gathered about Humphreys and helped him down from the saddle – somewhat roughly, I confess. Once on the ground, he began to shake.

‘What does this mean?’ He demanded. ‘You said we were going to Worcester…’

‘Did I?’ I replied. ‘Well, just now I want you to take a walk with me and my steward. If your legs hold up, that is.’

He would have protested, but saw it would avail him nothing. Leaving Lockyer with the horses, Childers and I frog-marched the man through the trees until we reached the Witching Pool. As I expected, there was no-one about. Cobbett’s man Mount, who had turned me away the last time I was here, had left his service, according to Tait: just another minion, it seemed, paid for his silence and sent packing.

‘Here we are,’ I said, as cheerfully as I could. We stopped near the edge of the pool, its surface dark and still but for an occasional ripple from the breeze. ‘How long is it since you were here, I wonder?’

The question was for Humphreys, who wet his fleshy lips, eyes darting about as if seeking a means of escape.

‘I pray you, be at ease,’ I told him, letting go of his arm. At my signal Childers did the same, the two of us standing together to face him.

‘We’re all men here, are we not?’ I went on. ‘So why don’t you tell us about the Cobbett girls, and what you liked to do with them? I speak particularly of Susanna, who met her tragic end at this very place, as you’ll recall.’

The man threw me a fearful look, then lowered his gaze.

‘And her young swain, too,’ I continued. ‘The shepherd, beaten and dragged away from his flock - poison forced down his throat, I heard. Then dumped in the water, so it would look as if he’d tried to join his lost love in spirit.’

‘In God’s name, what do you want of me?’ Humphreys blurted. Sweat showed on his brow, as he tugged uselessly at his bonds. ‘I swore to you, I know nothing of that.’

‘You did,’ I agreed. ‘As you’ve kindly admitted to the murder of the woodman who roamed hereabouts. So, we’ll go back to Susanna Cobbett, shall we?’

The man swallowed, his gaze flitting from me to Childers, who regarded him stonily. ‘See now,’ he began, somewhat